AT Lindenore upon the steep,

Bezide the trees a-reachèn high,

The while their lower limbs do zweep

The river-stream a-flowèn by;

By grægle bells in beds o’ blue, bluebell

Below the tree-stems in the lew, shelter

Calm aïr do vind the rwose-bound door,

Ov Ellen Dare o’ Lindenore.

An’ there noo foam do hiss avore

Swift bwoats, wi’ water-plowèn keels,

An’ there noo broad high-road's a-wore

By vur-brought trav'lers’ cracklèn wheels; from afar

Noo crowd's a-passèn to and fro,

Upon the bridge's high-sprung bow: arch

An’ vew but I do seek the door

Ov Ellen Dare o’ Lindenore.

Vor there the town, wi’ zun-bright walls,

Do sheen vur off by hills o’ grey, shine

An’ town-vo'k ha’ but seldom calls -folk

O’ business there, from day to day:

But Ellen didden leäve her ruf didn't, roof

To be admir'd, an’ that's enough—

Vor I've a-vound ‘ithin her door,

Feäir Ellen Dare o’ Lindenore.